


Every Breath You Take

by GertrudeMugler



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GertrudeMugler/pseuds/GertrudeMugler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel Lance has a cyber stalker who has discovered her secret identity as the Black Canary. Terrified, she turns to Felicity Smoak for help. Felicity and Oliver must return to Starling City to stop the stalker and protect all their secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll be watching you

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the long delay in new chapters but I haven't had a lot of time lately. In addition, I was trying to figure out how to make my story work with the current direction of Season 4. In the end, I've decided against trying to integrate it into the current season's storyline and just write it out as I'd originally intended. I currently have two endings - I may include both if I'm satisfied with them. Thanks again for reading and for the kudos! I appreciate the feedback and your time.

A ping sounded from her laptop, announcing a new email. Laurel rolled over in her bed and tapped the touchpad to wake up her computer. It was an unfamiliar email address, and Laurel frowned. Why didn’t the junk mail filter catch it? Unless…

A chill ran down her back and the hairs on her arms began to rise. The subject line merely said “hi”. Not again…  
Holding her breath, she clicked on the email. She gasped. It was _him_.

“hey sexy. its been a while. u never rite back. u think ur too good for me?”

She shuddered when she read the last line: “see u soon.”

Laurel slammed her laptop shut, breathing heavily. She looked around her room, as if to see if there was someone watching her. These days, she found herself often retreating to her bedroom, as though it were some sort of inner sanctum. She even ate in her bedroom. There was a spot of oil on her bedspread where she’d accidentally spilled salad dressing last month. On her nightstand were crumbs from last week’s energy bar that had served as dinner one evening. Too many upsetting events had happened in the rest of her apartment. Laurel knew she ought to move and she had long ago given up any hope of recovering her security deposit, but something in her was too reluctant, stubborn even, to look for a new place. This was her home, for better or worse (mostly worse, she thought grimly) and she didn’t want to give it up. Even if it was a mess. 

Finally, she got up, walked to her bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and tried to slow her racing heart. Laurel closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling that hard knot in her stomach tighten. It felt like a smoldering ember. Then there was a spark; her eyes snapped open. Laurel went to her computer, opened it and clicked on the email. She stared at it for a moment, and then stabbed at the reply button.

“Contact me again and you will regret it.” Then she hit send. And it was off. She let out her breath noisily and flopped back against her pillows and stared at her ceiling. In the back of her thoughts was the knowledge that she should have not responded, but Laurel was so furious at this nameless creep who’d been sending her these unwanted messages for a few months now that she could not help wanting to lash out. With all the insanity the previous months had brought, courtesy of the League of Assassins, one internet pervert had seemed like small potatoes in comparison. But the summer had passed by rather blissfully, with Diggle and Thea and her establishing a steady rhythm of weekly patrols. With Oliver and Felicity gone, they had started their own team and Laurel had taken comfort in the release it provided her. Her fingers itched for her staff; she imagined finding the asshole and the gratifying thud it would make crashing into his flesh.  
She awoke to the sound of the garbage truck grinding and screeching outside her building. It was early, usually it didn’t come until 8 AM…

“Shit!” Laurel couldn’t believe it was 8:03 AM. How had she not heard her alarm? She ran into the bathroom, and frantically brushed her hair, twisting it into a messy knot. No time for a shower. She was supposed to be questioning a witness for the Huang case. In 12 minutes.  
Laurel grabbed her phone, dialing her office frantically. It rang and rang, but finally someone answered. It was Marisol, the new clerk. “Marisol, it’s Laurel,” she began breathlessly. “I’m going to be late, there was traffic and a…a garbage truck broke down and blocked me in…please tell me Luke’s there?” Laurel felt hot and panicked.

“Uh, yes, Laurel, Luke is here but he’s prepping for the Gomez deposition”-  
Laurel interrupted her. “Can you ask him to start the Huang interview for me? I’m on my way, but there’s no way I’m going to get there in time.”

Marisol was silent for a moment. “Um, ok, I’ll ask him. Laurel, are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Laurel snapped. “Just ask him. I’ll be there soon.”

A line was beginning to form behind Laurel, as the security guard unsuccessfully swiped her ID badge for the third time. “What do you mean, it’s not working?”

The guard looked perplexed. “I don’t get it. The computer’s saying you don’t work here anymore.” He swiped it again, with the same result. “Look, your badge checks out so why don’t you go on up. I’ll notify IT about this.”

Laurel sighed. “Thanks, Rick.” She fetched her briefcase from the scanner and made her way upstairs. She glanced at her watch: 8:35 AM.

Luke Morelli was already interviewing Mrs. Huang as she walked past him. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps. “Thank you,” Laurel mouthed silently at him and he nodded solemnly back at her. She was almost to her desk when a voice stopped her.

“Miss Lance, step into my office please.” Anita Francis. Her boss. Laurel cringed internally.  
Anita Francis’ tight curls were frosted with grey, belying her youthful looking face. Her mouth was a flat line.

“Close the door,” District Attorney Francis said quietly. She gestured at Laurel to sit. Laurel’s heart was thudding in her chest. Late again…I’m in trouble…

“This makes it, what, the third time this month you’ve shown up late? And you were supposed to be interviewing the Huang woman. I need Morelli handing the Gomez deposition.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t”-

Anita continued over Laurel. “Not interested in excuses, Miss Lance. You’ve been here long enough to know better. You’re not a first year. This will not happen again, understood?” Her deep brown eyes were stern, then unexpectedly softened. “Look, Laurel, I know you’ve been through a lot and lord knows, it takes a toll on you. Starling City…is a troubled place. We’ve all lost someone, sometimes more than one. You’re not the only one here who’s suffered.”

Laurel looked down, studied her hands, looked at the healing bruises, yellow and green on her knuckles, old scabs. “Thank you for understanding.”

Anita sighed and leaned back in her chair. “People here like you. And they’ve been covering for you. But don’t ever get the clerks to do your dirty work for you. That ends now. Don’t ever put them in that position again. I don’t know what DA Spencer thought of you but know this: screw up again here and you’re gone. And I don’t care who your dad is.” The softness was gone and Anita was steely and unyielding.

Laurel swallowed and took a breath. “I understand.” She stood and turned to leave.

“Laurel?” She turned to face the older woman once more. “Perhaps you need to ask yourself: do you really want to be here?”

Laurel nodded, closing the office door as she left.  
Luke was waiting in the hallway for her. He was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, nervous energy radiating from his stocky frame.  
“I’m so sorry, Luke,” Laurel began.

Luke waved his hand. “Glad I could help. Look, Laurel, are you ok? I know it’s always crazy around here, but you just seem more stressed than usual.”

Laurel flashed him a brief, reassuring smile that she did not feel inside at all. “I’m fine.”  
Luke raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“Ok, let’s get down to business.”

The sky was deepening into shades of purple and charcoal, the last orange and gold ribbons of sunset long disappeared when Laurel finally walked out of the Justice building. She walked to her car, fumbling with her keys, when she felt a chill. She looked around, sensing that she was being watched, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Laurel remembered the creepy email and shivered.

Nothing was out of place when she entered her apartment. All quiet. But she couldn’t help herself and headed straight for her laptop. She booted it up and that’s when her heart started pounding. 317 new emails. Some were familiar, but the overwhelming majority was from her unwanted admirer. G8trl0vr. Her fingers trembled and she opened one. Laurel gasped. It was a picture. Of her. In her own bedroom. Laurel opened another email. More pictures. Sleeping, getting dressed, in a towel…and nude. Tears slid down her cheeks, her breath felt tight in her chest, her stomach twisted in knots. She realized that her stalker had hacked her laptop and had used the camera to take shots of her. Laurel forced herself to calm down enough to get her phone. She needed to talk to Felicity Smoak.

The phone rang and rang, then finally Felicity answered, sounding out of breath. “Laurel?” she asked, sounding confused. “Are…you ok?”

“Would I be calling you this late if I was?” she snapped at her. She tried to take a steadying breath. “I-I’m being stalked. On my computer. Someone’s been taking pictures of me, for months, it looks like.”

There was a brief pause. “Oh my god. Ok, I’m going to login to your computer. Don’t touch anything else, don’t turn it off, don’t answer your phone unless it’s me.”

Laurel breathed out, feeling a tiny bit of relief. Felicity would fix things. Then her eyes opened wide. If this guy had been taking pictures of her for months, then maybe he had pics of her dressed in…oh god. She looked towards her closet, where the black leather costume hung, hidden in the back. A surge of emotions welled up inside her: fear, guilt, anger. Especially anger. The thought that someone was spying on her, someone who wanted to take away her freedom, who wanted to terrorize her, fueled a black bubbling fury. Her fingers curled into fists. She could not let them take this away from her. The thing that made her finally feel like herself. All pretenses stripped away. She was meant to do this.  
Laurel turned back to her computer and stared at the screen, filled with messages, some just images, some filled with hateful, violent, disgusting threats.

Laurel was startled when she heard Felicity’s voice coming from her laptop. There was a video chat and she could see Felicity peering at her, her glasses reflecting the computer screen’s cold light. Idly, Laurel noticed Felicity’s hair was shorter. And she seemed to be wearing a man’s button-down shirt. Oliver’s shirt. Laurel brushed those thoughts aside.

“Thank god you’re here. I haven’t touched anything, like you asked.”

Felicity nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. The tapping sound of fingers rapidly dancing across a keypad came through faintly, along with little sounds of disapproval.

Laurel hesitated, and then asked, “Felicity, what if –what if this guy has pictures of me in my…costume?”

Felicity pressed her lips together, then sighed. “It’s possible. More than likely, actually, if he’s been spying on you for months.” She clicked her tongue. “Oh, and your passwords are crap.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel better already.” Laurel tried to appear calm, but inside, she felt like she was quivering with angry energy, threatening to explode.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Felicity leaned back from the laptop and met Laurel’s gaze. “Well, your computer is definitely infected with malicious malware. There’s a keylogger program installed, so he knows all your passwords. I went ahead and cancelled your credit cards and informed their fraud department about the hack. Your bank too. It looks like this guy’s been poking around for at least nine months.” Felicity paused, then added, “Get yourself a burner phone. Don’t use your regular phone to reach me. Just to be safe.”

“Thank you, Felicity.” Laurel felt like she was floating outside herself, watching some bizarre play. A ping sounded; another email had come in.

“Aaand here it comes. He knows we’ve discovered his spyware.” Felicity leaned in. And froze. “You were right, Laurel.” Felicity’s voice trembled.

Laurel looked at her screen and there was a clear screenshot of her wearing the black leather outfit, mask and wig. Music began playing: “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. Below the image were the words “HEY PRETTY BIRD I KNOW UR SECRET”.

Laurel felt like she couldn’t breathe, her heart was thudding in her chest and the floor suddenly seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She sank to her knees, her knuckles pressed to her mouth, but no sound came. What would she do? She was finished as an attorney, much less an assistant DA if this became public. Disbarment, possible jail time for felony assault. But the overwhelming fear that took Laurel’s breath away was the thought that she would never be able to go out there, never swing that baton, never feel that satisfying crunch when it impacted against some criminal’s flesh and bone. That rush, that adrenaline high, gone forever. She felt shame and fury clashing inside and finally Laurel closed her eyes, as if it could quell that storm. But it continued to rage on.

“Laurel?” Felicity’s wide blue eyes were full of concern and determination. “Laurel, we’re going to get this guy. I promise you. I used to take these creeps out when I was at MIT. No one – no woman - should have to live in fear like this.”

Something seemed to crack, and Laurel felt a knot in her throat. She blinked rapidly, forcing back the prickling tears. “Why – why are you being so…nice to me?” She finally managed to say.

Felicity looked down for a moment, but when she met Laurel’s gaze again she spoke with purpose. “Because we’re a team. Oliver, Diggle, Thea, Roy…and you. And we don’t leave anyone behind.”

Laurel nodded.

Felicity nodded back. “Okay. We’ve got work to do.”


	2. Every Move You Make

Without turning around, Felicity asked, “How much of that did you hear?”

Oliver paused, just footsteps away from where Felicity sat at the desk in their hotel room. “Most of it,” he admitted. 

Felicity turned to face him. “Much as I’ve enjoyed running away from home with you these past few months, we need to go back.”

Oliver sighed, closed the distance between them and took her hand. “I know. She’s in trouble.”

Felicity stood, slid her arms around his bare torso, feeling the rippled scars, some old, some much newer, beneath her fingertips. “We need to look out for each other.” She pressed her lips to his collarbone; Oliver kissed the top of her head.

“I owe her that, at least.”

Laurel spent the next day being an exemplary employee; she arrived early to work, stayed late and caught up on all the cases that had been piling up. She ate lunch and dinner at her desk, courtesy of the vending machine in the hall, though truthfully, her stomach churned with anxiety. She went to her AA meeting, saying very little and then went directly home. Ignoring the desire to open her closet, to at least run her fingers along the baton, feel the leather against her skin, Laurel instead changed into pajamas, had a cup of chamomile tea, which did not calm her at all and tried to fall asleep. She was still staring at the ceiling when her phone pinged at 1:47 am. A message from Oliver: “We’re back. Meet us at Thea’s 6 am sharp.” Laurel exhaled with relief and tried to disregard the tiny pang of jealousy she felt at seeing the “us” in Oliver’s message. “Us” as in Oliver and Felicity. Why did it matter? Hadn’t Oliver hurt her enough? Had any of their relationship been real? Why was he able to commit now, with someone else? Why hadn’t she been able to change him? Why now? Laurel wiped angrily at the pinpricks of tears. “Fuck this,” she muttered, and rolled over, burying her head under her pillow.

Six am sharp found Laurel showered, dressed and pressing the doorbell at Thea’s building. She was buzzed in almost immediately and Laurel was surprised to feel strangely at ease despite her earlier regrets and despair. Asses were about to get kicked.

Thea opened the door to Laurel and immediately hugged her. “We’re going to get this asshole, I promise you.” She looked like an angry little pixie. An angry pixie who shot arrows. “Coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

“Um…sure.” Laurel followed her to the kitchen and gratefully accepted the steaming mug, inhaling deeply. Black and fragrant, just the way she liked it. The rapid clicking sounds of fingers flying across a keyboard grew stronger as Laurel approached the dining table, where Felicity had set up shop. Wires and cables snaked across the table and across the floor. “Watch where you step,” Felicity warned without looking up. She tapped a few more times and then leaned back from her computer screen. “Good morning. Want the good news or the bad news first?” Felicity sounded more like her chipper self, but there were dark smudges beneath her eyes and she still looked pale, despite the obvious signs that she’s been in a warm sunny place recently. A sprinkling of freckles showed faintly across her cheeks. She was dressed more casually than Laurel had ever seen her, in a well-worn MIT sweatshirt and yoga pants and her blonde hair had been hastily scraped back into her ubiquitous ponytail.

Laurel found herself oddly hesitant and said “The good news, I guess?”

“Well, I found the little prick; 26 years old, single, lives alone, has great credit –and his name is Gordon Petrowicz. The Third. If you can believe that people would willingly name children that more than once…” Felicity handed Laurel a printout of a driver’s license. Gordon Petrowicz; 5’6”, 145 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes, scraggly goatee. A completely forgettable face. Laurel wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him before. And this was the sicko who’d been spying on her and was now threatening to expose her secret identity to the world. Her hands closed tightly on the paper.

“And the bad news?”

“He’s not here. Not in Starling, at any rate.” Oliver’s voice. 

Laurel turned, letting out a tiny breath she hadn’t realized that she’d been holding. He was descending the stairs, lightly on bare feet. He’d just showered, and he smelled faintly of something citrusy. He was also tanned, like Felicity. Another tiny stab of jealousy. Not now, she reminded herself.

“But there is more good news: after doing a thorough search of his files, Mr. Petrowicz does not seem to have discovered any other secrets about our immediate circle of vigilantes. Also, we know where he is,” Felicity added. “Central City. Well, a suburb of Central City, Middletown to be precise.” She smiled knowingly, tilting her head to one side. “And we happen to have someone out that way who might be able to help us with that…”

Laurel smiled back. “Barry.”

“Cisco has already started collecting data on this Gordon schmuck and Barry’s running a perimeter sweep as we speak. Can’t be too careful – our creepy stalker friend might be an asshole, but he’s been clever enough to be watching you for months without your knowledge.” Felicity looked cautiously hopeful. Suddenly, she straightened and turned back to her laptop. “Guys, I have Cisco and Barry on the line. He’s taken out the spy cameras Gordon set up and he’s about to enter the apartment.”

Oliver stood next to Felicity, his hand resting on her shoulders. “Put them on speaker.”

“Buenos Dias, my early birds.” Cisco’s voice sounded less than thrilled. “You do realize it’s Saturday morning, right? Some of us mere mortals like to sleep in on the weekends.”

“Cisco!” Felicity admonished. “This is Laurel’s safety we’re talking about here, for pete’s sake.”

“I kid, I kid,” he protested. “Anything for the Black Canary.” Laurel’s cheeks grew warm and she felt slightly embarrassed. Thea smiled and winked at her. “I think he’s got a bit of a crush on you,” she whispered.

Oliver frowned. “Quiet everyone.”

Chastened, Thea raised her eyebrows and Laurel bit her lip.

“Hey guys,” Barry’s voice now crackled through the speakers. “No one’s home. Cisco’s jamming any transmitters, so Petrowicz can’t record any audio or visual, wherever this guy’s hiding. Damn, he eats a lot of Ramen noodles. There’s so much sodium in those things…”

“Focus, Barry,” Felicity urged.

“Right. Well, there’s a post it note on his screen with a number written on it; looks like a phone number. And guys: it has a Starling City area code.” There was a pause. “All his things are here – either he left in a hurry or he’s coming back.”

Cisco broke in. “It’s the latter. Just saw him on a street camera a block away. Looks like he went to the convenience store around the corner. Get out of there now, Barry.” There was a whooshing sound, and then Barry’s voice, sounding perhaps a bit too smug. “Already gone.”

“Don’t worry, Laurel,” Felicity began, twisting in her seat to give her a reassuring nod. But Laurel wasn’t there. Felicity’s brows drew together in confusion. “Where is she?”

Irritation and resignation registered on Oliver’s face. He sighed. “She’s not here.”

The printout of Gordon Petrowicz’s driver’s license was missing. “Oh crap,” Felicity breathed.

Oliver pulled out his phone and began tapping the screen; a pinging sound sounded from his phone and grew stronger as he approached a potted plant near the windows. “Godammit,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He fished a tiny object from the ceramic planter.

“You bugged her?” Thea seemed surprised. “But we’ve been working together for months now, she’s part of the team.” She crossed her arms in disapproval. “How is that not as bad as creepy stalker guy?”

Feeling defensive, Oliver faced Thea, hands on his hips. “We all know Laurel can go off half-cocked sometimes. And if I had to go bail her ass out of some stupid unnecessary mess she created because she was pissed off at me, well, I guess I just wanted a heads up.” Oliver sighed and looked down. He seemed embarrassed. “Besides, I planted the bug months ago, just as a precaution. It seemed prudent at the time. She found all the other ones anyway.” Oliver tucked the bug into his pocket, then turned to face Thea and Felicity. “Well, it’s pretty obvious where Laurel is headed. Check her car, airport, train, the usual places. She’s had training from Nyssa, so she won’t make it easy for us to find her. Let’s call her mom – Laurel might reach out to her mother. It’s unlikely Dinah will let us know but perhaps she might let something slip.” Oliver paused, then took a tiny breath and dropped his shoulders. He seemed hesitant but finally looked at Thea. “How’s John? I haven’t talked to him yet. I didn’t know how…”

Apparently feeling forgiving, Thea went to Oliver and hugged him. “I know. I spoke to him. He…he isn’t ready just yet. But he will help however he can. Just give him time, Ollie. It’ll be all right.” She looked up at her big brother with her small crooked smile. He gave her a small smile in return.

“Well,” Felicity began. “It looks like we have work to do. We need to get to Creepy McCreeper before Laurel does. Because if we don’t…”

“Who knows what might happen.” Oliver looked grim.


	3. I Dream At Night, I Can Only See Your Face

Laurel silently thanked Nyssa once again for all her advice, including keeping cash stashed away. Her credit cards were currently unavailable and she knew Felicity could track those purchases as easily as breathing. Laurel was also pleased that no one had seemed to notice her as she slipped out of the loft with the stalker’s information. She’d left the bug hidden in a potted plant at Thea’s place; Laurel knew Oliver had placed it in the lining of her purse months ago, but had ignored it, figuring it would give him peace of mind. Now she didn’t care. She stretched back in her seat, idly gazing at the landscape whizzing past the train window. Her mother had agreed to meet her at the station in Central City, which, at this point, ought to be in about three hours. She surveyed her surroundings; the train car was rather sparsely occupied by some college students, a mother unsuccessfully trying to corral three small rambunctious children, an elderly couple napping and a middle-aged man working on his laptop. Laurel didn’t sense any threat from any of them, so she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She knew Oliver would be on her tail and she needed every advantage to stay ahead of him. Soon, she was asleep. And dreaming.

Inky darkness resolved itself into a flat surface. It rippled and then Laurel could faintly discern a face. It was a woman’s face, fair skin, blonde hair, eyes obscured in shadow - no, not shadow. A mask. It was a mirror. Laurel was looking at herself. Her true self. Black Canary.   
Blackness surrounded her and Laurel shivered. Unseen, she heard faint noises above her, tiny eerie cries and occasionally a dull, rapid, shuddering sound that she couldn’t immediately identify. Then her reflection spoke.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Laurel didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to stop this guy. I’m protecting myself. Protecting us.”

Black Canary cocked her head to one side. “You have a team now. Why not let them help you? Sorry, us.” Her tone was mocking.

“It’s my problem and I can do it myself. I can do this. I… _need_ to do this.” Laurel felt defensive.

A sharp laugh from the mirror. “Really? What are you trying to prove? Starling City needs a new brooding solitary hero now that Oliver has vacated that position?”

Laurel felt heat blooming in her cheeks and her hands were clenched. “What the hell? Why are you doing this to me? I’m doing this for you! This guy could ruin everything! If my identity is blown, I’ll lose everything. My job, my career, my license…I’ll never be able to go out and…”

“Never be able to go out and beat the shit out of people again? Maybe you won’t get to hang out with all the other cool superheroes anymore, once you’re in jail.” Her reflection had crossed her arms and was regarding Laurel with a cruel smile. “You’ll never get the recognition you crave from your prison cell. Your father is once again disappointed in you, when he’s sober enough to think about it, Oliver feels guilty every time he looks at you, Felicity thinks you’re hot-headed and unpredictable, and Diggle and Thea - well, you’re just a liability that they have to cover for.”

“That’s not true! I have more than proved myself to everyone!” Laurel raised her fists; she was seething in anger. “Who do you-”

Black Canary came even closer to Laurel; more rippling and then Laurel realized that it wasn’t a mirror at all. It was a doorway. The Canary walked through and Laurel recognized Sara’s face beneath the black mask and blonde hair. Sara looked up at her sister and a sneer twisted her features. 

“I always knew you had a jealous streak, sis, but stealing my identity? I’d say you’ve got some issues. But then again, I’m dead, so who’s going to stop you?”

Laurel felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. She stepped back, away from this malevolent revenant before her. The sounds above her seemed closer than ever, that fluttering, shuddering echo. She flinched from it, the thunder of hundreds of wings beating in the darkness closing in around her, stealing her breath. “No,” Laurel gasped. “You’re wrong about me…” She sank to the ground, a hand raised in weak protest.

The Canary - Sara - leaned in and whispered. “Admit it, Laurel. You’re no hero. You’re not trying to save anyone except yourself. You’re an addict looking for your next fix, desperately trying to not get cut off from your supply. What’s going to fill that void once this -” Sara tore off her mask and threw it at Laurel’s feet. “Is gone? What then, Black Canary?”

“You’re wrong,” Laurel said, half sobbing. “It’s not true. I am a hero. I care about the people of Starling-”

Sara stood above Laurel, looking down, no longer mocking or cruel. Her face was solemn and her voice full of sadness. “The question you need to ask yourself, Laurel, is: do you really want to be here?” Suddenly, Sara’s form shivered and became indistinct. The air shook with the beating of wings. She split into hundreds of dark shapes; birds, flying frantically towards some dim light far above them. Then there was only one bird left, circling the space Sara had occupied only moments before. Unlike the others, this one was pale, small and singing sweetly.

“A white canary…” Laurel whispered, and then the world around her faded away.

“Central City!” Laurel awoke with a start, as the conductor announced their approach. The dream had been so vivid and haunting. She still felt as though she needed to catch her breath. No one else seemed to be looking at her strangely. She gathered her things; it wasn’t much, just her purse and a small duffel bag she’d stashed away in case she needed it, with a change of clothes and some toiletries. The college kids and the harried mother of three with her energetic brood were also preparing to get off in Central City. 

Stepping out of the train car, Laurel was grateful for her jacket; it was cool here and it appeared to have rained recently. Puddles had accumulated on the platform. Looks like the weather from Starling City preceded me here, she thought. Laurel dialed her mother.

“Hello?” Her mother sounded cool and professional. 

“It’s me, Laurel.”

Dinah laughed in surprise. “I’m so sorry - I didn’t recognize this number.”

Laurel laughed too, though she didn’t feel amused. “Yeah, I had to get a new number. It’s a long story.”  
“Oh? Well, you can tell me all about it over lunch. I found a place that makes the best milkshakes. And the fries are good too. I’m just pulling up now.”

Laurel smiled at the mention of her favorite guilty pleasure. “Sounds fabulous. See you in a minute.” 

Remembering Nyssa’s appalled expression at Laurel’s milkshake and fries routine raised her spirits and the heaviness brought on by her ominous dream seemed to dissipate a little. She swung the duffel over her shoulder and descended the stone steps of Central City’s gorgeous art deco train station. 

Dinah’s little hybrid car was waiting at the curb, silent and sleek. Her mother waved excitedly from the window.

“Laurel, you have no idea what a lovely surprise this is! I’m so happy, even if this is just a quick visit.” Dinah beamed and Laurel climbed in the passenger side. “So what happened with your phone?”

Laurel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, like I said before, it’s a long story. The short version is: I’m being stalked. Cyber stalked.”

Dinah gasped; she stepped on the brakes a little too hard and they were jerked back in their seats by the seatbelts. “Oh, sweetie! That’s terrible! How long has this been going on? Have they caught this person?” She turned to look at Laurel. “What did your father say?”

A honk from behind them reminded Dinah to pay attention to the road, as the light had turned green. Finally, Laurel admitted, “I haven’t told him yet.” Her mother looked disapproving.

“Honey,” Dinah began. “I know things are strained between you two, but you need to tell him about this. I know your father won’t stop until he’s found this awful person-”

“Actually, Mom, I already know where this creep lives,” Laurel said cautiously.

Dinah’s eyebrows rose but she said nothing. Laurel continued. “That’s kind of why I’m here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t still being watched.”

Her mother’s lips were pressed tight. “That stalker lives here. In Central City.”

“Yes, Mom.” Laurel hoped her mother wasn’t too disappointed. “Can we get those milkshakes and fries to go? I’d like to take a little detour…”


	4. Every Vow You Break

“Talk to me, Felicity,” Oliver said quietly, as he peered over her shoulder at her screen. She jumped slightly and Oliver briefly savored the knowledge that he could still sneak up on her. “Tell me you’ve got something.”

Felicity turned to him and smirked. “I know you love it when I talk tech-y to you.” She saw the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit, even though he was trying to maintain a serious disposition. He could feel her breath come a little faster as Felicity felt the heat of his body. They locked eyes for a brief moment; _not now, but later, I promise…_

The moment passed; Oliver straightened up and Felicity began talking, a bit too loudly. “So okay, I traced that phone number Barry found and it belongs to one Tracey Carmichael, a resident of our fair city.” Felicity looked around. “Where’s Thea?”

Oliver sighed. “She went to get food from her favorite Thai place. They don’t deliver, apparently. Aren’t you hungry? It’s nearly eight o’clock. At night.”

The smirk returned to Felicity’s face, then her expression softened, her eyelids dropped slightly, her lips parted. “So we’re alone, then?” Her eyes beckoned and Oliver knelt beside Felicity. “We are,” he replied softly, reaching for her glasses. Felicity bit her lip, and leaned towards him. Their lips touched, then parted as their tongues began to--

“Hey, food’s here! Hope everyone likes Pad Thai ‘cause I got _way_ too much.” Thea was back and remarkably chipper. Oliver and Felicity sprang apart. Thea noticed and then realized she’d interrupted…something. “Oh. Um.” She placed the bags of food on her kitchen island and began busily unpacking cartons. “Well,” Thea began tentatively. “This is a bit awkward. Because I kind of invited John over for dinner.”

Felicity could see tension radiating through Oliver’s body; nervousness too. That little muscle twitch in his jaw. “Dig’s coming? Now?” His hands clenched and unclenched.

Thea sighed. “Look, Ollie, I know you like to do things your way, but we don’t have time for that now. We need John on this and you two are going to have to talk things out sooner or later. So I decided sooner works better.” The buzzer sounded. “Speak of the devil,” she said brightly as she buzzed Diggle in.

The next few minutes were painfully quiet, punctuated by the rapid tapping of Felicity on her keyboard, as they waited for Diggle to arrive. Oliver looked down at the floor, his arms hanging straight at his sides, his face a mask. He could tell Felicity was watching him surreptitiously; he knew she could see the frustration, anger, guilt, sadness and a whole host of complicated feelings were swirling like a tornado beneath that blank surface he wore like a shield. There was a knock at the door and Oliver’s head snapped up. He felt like he was readying himself for a fight. Which perhaps he was.

Thea opened the door and John Diggle was standing, holding a paper shopping bag. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were wary and guarded. He hugged Thea, bending down to embrace her petite form. “Good to see you, Speedy,” he said warmly. Oliver felt glad to see Diggle, to hear him call Thea by his old nickname. But he was nervous, even scared for what came next. Because Oliver Queen had no idea what could happen. Finally, John looked up at him and their eyes locked. Oliver could see the tension and anger in Diggle’s face, along with something else. Regret? Forgiveness? Oliver was not sure.

Diggle handed the bag to Thea, saying, “There’s a bottle of red: something Italian Lyla picked out, and I brought some beer too. Sara’s got a low-grade fever, so I can’t stay too long.”

Felicity had risen from her seat and came over to the kitchen island. “Nothing serious, I hope?” she asked Diggle. She moved to hug him and he returned it, replying, “Just a little cold she picked up from another kid at daycare. It’s good to see you, Felicity.”

Felicity smiled gently. “You too, John.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Dig.” Oliver had joined them in the kitchen. He had relaxed his stance, but there was still tension in the lines of his face.

“Oliver.” Diggle’s voice was calm and quiet, but something dangerous simmered under the surface. “I’m here for Laurel. You and I…” Diggle looked away finally, and Oliver saw some of the anger dissipate from John’s frame. “When this is all over, we - we should talk.”

Oliver quietly released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and replied, “I’d really like that.” Diggle nodded. And then he was all business.

“What have you got for us, Felicity?”

Felicity seemed grateful to move on and motioned for everyone to follow her to her computer. “Well, Laurel is AWOL, but it’s clear she went to Central City. I wasn’t able to trace her burner phone, seems to be turned off. So she’s probably using a different one than the one she’s been using to call us with. Her mother didn’t respond to our calls. That alone makes me think Laurel’s definitely there.” She paused and looked up at Oliver, Thea and Diggle. “What do you think she going to do?”

Thea spoke up first. “I searched her apartment and her costume is still there. Her weapons too. So she’s not going after this guy as Black Canary.” She looked worried. “It’s not like we can go to the police with this information.”

“Not the police, but perhaps Detective West? Barry already knows what’s been going on. I think we’re going to have to send Barry to the stalker’s place once more,” Oliver mused.

Diggle shook his head. “I don’t know, Oliver. Detective West is not exactly your biggest fan. Maybe we need to keep this between those who already are aware of the situation.”

Oliver gave a small nod. “Okay, then Barry goes out there again. Do we confront Mr. Petrowicz? Talk to Laurel? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but given what’s been done to her, her anger is pretty justified. That being said, we can’t let her hurt this guy. But how do we stop him?”

Felicity cracked her knuckles. “Oh, leave that to me. I’ll make sure he never wants to touch a keyboard or go on Facebook again.” A wicked smile played on her lips; Oliver was both turned on and a little disturbed.


	5. Every Game You Play

The door to Gordon Petrowicz’s apartment was not locked and the hairs on Barry Allen’s neck prickled. Something was definitely off. It was dark inside; something crunched under his boot. Barry flipped on the hall light and froze. The apartment had been ransacked; chairs tipped over, papers strewn everywhere. Smashed monitors, wires and cables lay like a den of snakes on the floor. And then there was the blood. It pooled, a dark lake, around the ruin of Gordon Petrowicz’s head. He’d been attacked, beaten with such viciousness that Barry was stunned. He had seen plenty of crime scenes, but he was taken aback at the ferocity. Petrowicz hadn’t just been beaten; he’d been pulverized. It looked as though the killer had gone on long after the victim had perished. He noticed the computer tower seemed to be missing.

“Um,” Barry began, not sure where to begin. “There’s a problem here…”

“What’s the problem?” Felicity sounded anxious.

“Well… your stalker? He’s… dead.” Barry exhaled noisily.

Felicity seemed to be doing the same. “Holy shit,” she said finally. Barry could hear Oliver’s worried voice in the background.

“Guys, he was murdered. His head is bashed in, and I mean like smashed all to hell, like his skull exploded--”

“Okay, we get the picture,” interrupted Oliver. “You need to get out of there, right now.”

Barry’s stomach was churning. “I know. I need to call this in…anonymously, I guess. This is a crime scene, and now I’ve got to go to…my other job.”

Cisco’s voice now was in Barry’s ear. “I’ll call it in on the tip line. Go now.”

Barry turned to leave, glancing once more at the grisly carnage below. “Oliver, you don’t think that Laurel might have--” He broke off, hesitant to finish his thought.

There was a pause, then Oliver answered. “No, Laurel would never do something like this. She’s hot-headed sometimes, but she wouldn’t kill someone.” But his voice sounded a bit uncertain. 

“Okay. We’ll be in touch.” There was a rushing sound, and Barry was gone.

Back at Thea’s loft, it was silent. No one seemed to know what to say. Finally, Thea came over to Oliver, looked up at him, her wide eyes full of worry.

“Ollie, I know you said that Laurel wouldn’t do this, but…” Even Thea was afraid to say it.

Oliver put his hands on his sister’s shoulders, trying to reassure her. “We can’t jump to conclusions. Just because we think Laurel’s in Central City doesn’t mean she killed her stalker.” 

Felicity stood, also looking hesitant. “I know, but Oliver, you saw some of the things that guy sent her. I didn’t even show you the worst of them. It was so awful…I could almost understand if Laurel…if she--”

Oliver looked irritated and impatient. “No, we’re going to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she’s part of the team, then she’s one of us. And we need to support her.”

Felicity cocked her head to one side and asked softly, “Are you trying to convince us or yourself?”

Oliver didn’t answer; he was looking out the window, where the sun was struggling to shine through heavy banks of clouds on the horizon.

 

A humid haze was settling in as John Diggle parked his car in front of Tracey Carmichael’s apartment. It was the second story of a house in a slowly gentrifying section of Starling City. Gentrification had not yet reached this particular street; the houses seemed old and tired. Sagging porches and slightly overgrown hedges faced the sidewalk. However, it appeared relatively free of trash and debris. The front door of number 123 Charles Street opened to reveal an older man, wearing a worn brown cardigan, a watering can in his hand. He shuffled in his slippers over to some plants, leaves and flowers spilling over their containers, bringing a bright splash of color to an otherwise drab scene. John grabbed his clipboard and got out of his car.

“Excuse me!” Diggle jogged across the street, smiling. “Good morning sir.”

The man squinted at him, then put on the glasses that had been pushed up on his head. “Can I help you?" he asked warily.

“I hope so, Mr.…” John trailed off, hoping to get some information.

“Ahmed. Farouk Ahmed. Is something wrong?”

Diggle shook his head. “I’m from the Department of Environmental Protection, just doing an asbestos survey. Some of these buildings are pretty old and we just want to make sure residents are safe.”

Mr. Ahmed seemed to relax a bit. “Ah, yes, that is a problem in some places. Not here,” he added quickly. “We had that fixed when I bought the house. Twenty five years ago this October. We rent the upper level of the house.”

John smiled again. “I’m glad to hear it. And your tenant? Any complaints?”

Now the older man’s features darkened. He snorted. “What doesn’t she complain about? Always something. The windows are too hard to open. The stairs are so creaky! It’s an old house, what can I do?” He sighed heavily. “If she doesn’t like the house, maybe she should move? But I think she likes complaining too much.” He shrugged. “She always pays her rent on time, so what can I say?”

Diggle had raised his eyebrows at Mr. Ahmed’s words. “I take it she’s a difficult tenant?”

Another snort, another shrug. “Eh, not so much. But she’s…unpleasant. Never a kind word. Always talking about how something is so unfair. Someone cut her off when she was driving, and she hopes that they crash. Or another got promoted over her at work, and she’s angry. Ms. Carmichael is an unhappy person. She thinks the world owes her.” Mr. Ahmed shook his head. “That’s why I like my plants. They don’t say much.” He took a spray bottle and began misting his plants.

John chuckled a bit and said, “That seems a bit harsh. She can’t be that bad.”

The old man barked a short, mirthless laugh. “You say this as one who has not met her. I know Ms. Carmichael. I know better.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing she’s not home then,” Diggle suggested.

“Yes, yes, lucky you! She took off the day before yesterday, so angry! Stomping down the steps to her car and her tires screeched down the street.” Mr. Ahmed waved his hand wearily. “She should have taken her broomstick.”

John Diggle swallowed a laugh. “Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr. Ahmed. Those plants are looking good.”

The old man beamed. “Thank you!”

Upon returning to his car, John Diggle called Thea. “Well, Ms. Carmichael isn’t home and took off in a big hurry the day before last. According to her landlord, she was angry and upset. Let’s see if we can track her car on the traffic cams.”

“Got it. Felicity’s bringing up the cameras now.” Thea sounded brisk and business-like.

“We need to dig into this lady’s background and find out how she’s connected to the stalker. There’s something off about her. Her landlord barely had a nice thing to say about her, said she had a chip on her shoulder.” Diggle sounded thoughtful.

“See you back at the loft?” Thea asked.

John sighed, and shook his head slightly, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “No, sorry, I’ve got to get home. Sara’s doing better, but now Lyla seems to have come down with the bug. She was up all night with the baby and I’ve got to give her a break.” 

There was a small pause and John thought he could hear a tiny sigh. “Ok,” Thea replied. “You’re not mad? At me? ‘Cause I kinda ambushed you--”

“No, no, Thea, I’m not mad. Just…at a loss for words, I guess. Me and Oliver…we’re not in the same space yet. But that won’t stop me from doing all I can. We don’t leave anyone behind. Haven’t yet and I don’t plan to stop now.” Diggle started his engine and began angling his car into the road. “We’ll talk soon.”


	6. How My Poor Heart Aches

Before the phone could ring a second time, Felicity had answered. “What’s up, Barry? Any news?”

“Yeah, afraid so. And it’s not good.” Barry sounded worried. Oliver saw Felicity’s furrowed brow and came to her side. 

“Barry, I’m putting you on speaker. Oliver and Thea are here.” Felicity pushed a button.

“So I processed the crime scene and I found what is most likely the murder weapon. It’s a length of steel pipe. I found fingerprints, some smudged, but enough to make a match. They’re Laurel’s, Oliver.” Felicity could picture Barry, probably pacing nervously, running his hands through his hair.

“How’d you get Laurel’s fingerprints? It’s not like she’d be in a criminal database.” Felicity could tell Oliver was curious and unsettled.

“As an ADA, Laurel had to submit fingerprints for their records. It’s city policy. And Felicity…provided them to me. For exclusionary purposes. Initially.” Barry sounded more and more uncomfortable with each word he spoke. Felicity could feel Oliver’s gaze on her and she closed her eyes briefly and then looked up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were pleading. He softened his expression; she relaxed a fraction.

Without looking away from Felicity, Oliver asked, “And you’re sure those prints belong to Laurel? There’s no mistake?”

“No, they’re hers. But here’s the thing,” Barry continued, and he sounded a bit less worried. “The prints are almost too clear. Like…”

“Like someone _wanted_ us to think that Laurel killed Petrowicz,” Oliver finished.

“Someone who had something to gain by continuing to blackmail Laurel,” mused Thea. “I think we need to find that Carmichael lady. Like _now_.”

The phone rang again and once more, Felicity immediately picked up. “It’s Cisco,” she announced.

“Hey guys…so Laurel called me. Like, a bunch of times. And Barry’s filled me in on the recent, uh, developments.” Cisco, too, sounded awkward. “What do I tell her?”

“Cisco, it’s Oliver.” He leaned over Felicity’s shoulder, his hand brushed hers as he braced himself gently on the table’s surface. She forced herself to not be distracted by his scent.  
“Tell her the truth. That we found her prints.” 

“Me?” Felicity could have sworn Cisco nearly squeaked.

“No, it’s not fair to you. I’ll do it.” Oliver sounded resigned.

“Do you think Laurel’s responsible? Barry described it and it was like the Walking Dead--”

Oliver sighed heavily. “God, I wish I knew.”

“Ok, then,” Cisco replied. “I guess I’ll talk to you all later then.” There was a click and the call ended.

Felicity looked up at Oliver, her brows furrowed with worry. “Are you alright?” she asked tentatively.

Oliver seemed exhausted. “No,” he admitted. “I keep thinking that I could have kept her from this somehow…kept her from this life.”

“One thing I’ve learned about Laurel,” said Thea. “Don’t get in the way of what she wants.”

 

The train’s speed blurred Laurel’s view through her window into a sort of Impressionist landscape of greens and golds, tinged with the first burnished tones of autumn. She felt lulled by the rocking motion of the train car, so when her phone buzzed, Laurel started. She pulled it out and looked to see who was calling. Oliver. She blew out a noisy breath; she’d known that she would have to deal with him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

“Hello, Ollie,” Laurel answered breezily, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Enjoying the train ride? You’re probably more than halfway back to Starling by now.” Oliver didn’t sound amused.

Laurel was alarmed. Had there been another bug that she’d missed? “How did you--never mind…”

“Educated guess. Didn’t know for certain; thanks for confirming that for me. If your train remains on schedule, you should be arriving by 7:30 this evening. I’ll pick you up--”

Laurel felt herself growing increasingly irritated. “I can take a taxi, thanks.”

“We need to talk, Laurel.” Oliver didn’t sound like he was going to take no for an answer. “Gordon Petrowicz is dead. Murdered.”

A sigh escaped her lips. “I know. That’s why I called Cisco. I assume you told him not to talk to me?”

“Barry found your fingerprints on the murder weapon.”

The snarky response Laurel had been about to loose on Oliver dried up in her mouth. She felt cold and hot all at once. Finally, she managed to whisper, “What?” She was stunned, then afraid. “You don’t really think I did this, do you?”

Oliver was blunt. “Did you?”

“No!” Laurel whispered, indignant. She spared a quick glance to see if any of her fellow passengers seemed to be paying attention to her. None were. “Of course not!”

“Ok then.” Oliver’s voice was cool.

Laurel was wary. “That’s it? No more interrogation?” She paused. “You believe me?”

“I know you’re not a killer, Laurel. You said you didn’t kill him, so that’s that.” Laurel couldn’t get a read on his mood. She was still cautious.

“I won’t lie to you, Laurel. I’m trusting your word. This is the new me.” Oliver’s voice was as smooth and cool as a river stone.

Laurel sighed, frustrated. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’ll see you at 7:30,” Oliver said. Then he hung up.

The rest of the train ride was spent in unsettled silence. Laurel couldn’t fall asleep and now the view outside her window was less Impressionist painting and more Rothko; amorphous blobs of deepening ambers and red, ambiguous, even slightly ominous, as the sun sank lower in the sky. She couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Relief that her stalker was dead; irritation that she’d never gotten to confront him; fear now that someone new seemed to be threatening her with blackmail. It all swirled around in her head and unsettled her stomach. The saltine crackers she’d snatched from the diner tasted like ashes in her mouth. Her apprehension grew the closer they approached Starling City.

As he’d promised, Oliver was waiting outside the train station, leaning against a sleek little sportscar. A light rain was beginning to fall, coating everything with tiny droplets. Oliver appeared not to notice.

Handing Oliver her duffel bag, Laurel raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you get this car? Thought you couldn’t afford things like this anymore.”

Her comment had hit a nerve; she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and she felt a tiny bit of mean satisfaction.

“It’s Thea’s,” he answered quietly.

“Oh.” Laurel felt a twinge of guilt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.” Oliver fastened his seatbelt and started the car. “I’ll fill you in on the way. We have more information. And a theory as to how your fingerprints showed up at the crime scene.”

“No, I’m coming with you to Thea’s. I’ll call in sick to work--” Laurel was getting angry. Same old Ollie after all, issuing orders and brooking no dissent.

Oliver pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park. “You don’t get it,” he said, almost pleading. “You need to go to work tomorrow. You need to act like nothing has happened, like everything is fine. Because if any of this gets out there, you need to appear above reproach. You need to look pristine. They’re going to be looking for any irregularity, anything unusual to try to tear you down and ruin you. You will lose everything; your reputation, your career--”

“I don’t care about any of that!” Laurel retorted. “I don’t give a damn about my career! Fighting crime, protecting this city, that’s what I care about now--”

“You should care!” Oliver said sharply. Laurel was taken aback by his intensity. “You should give a damn. Because this life - being a vigilante - that’s not a life. It’s not what your father wants for you.” Oliver sank back in his seat. “It’s not what I wanted for you. It’s not what Sara would have wanted…”

“This is what _I_ want!” Laurel insisted. “This is the only thing that makes sense to me now. It’s the only time I feel alive--” Laurel broke off, feeling a knot in her throat.

Oliver looked at her, his eyes dark and almost mournful. Laurel was reminded of her dream and how Sara had looked at her in the same way. “I didn’t become a vigilante to feel something. I did it to - to atone for all my mistakes and my family’s mistakes. I wronged a lot of people. I hurt you, lied to you. I wanted to make our world a better place than I’d left it. But I didn’t do it to make me feel better about myself.” His voice grew softer, huskier. “It can never be about you. When it becomes a compulsion, then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”

Laurel didn’t answer him; hot tears welled up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She swallowed once, then again. Finally, she spoke. “Tell me what else you found out.”

Oliver was silent for a while. There was only the sound of the windshield wipers squeaking across the glass. When he spoke, he was again cool and neutral. “Your stalker had a partner and we think that person killed him. Not exactly sure why yet. We believe that partner to be here in Starling City and her name is Tracey Carmichael. She’s a low-level journalist working for the Tribune, covering the urban stories, human interest. According to her internet history, sometime last year, she began taking an interest in the masked vigilantes. She seemed to be trying to find out our identities. She was a frequent visitor at Iris West’s blog, asked a lot of questions. At some point, Carmichael hooked up with Petrowicz through a chat room about vigilantes when he offered information about your identity. Currently, Felicity and Diggle are trying to lock down her location. We believe she was in Central City at the same time you were. She may have also been stalking you.”

Laurel exhaled slowly. “Great. So now I have two stalkers.” 

“Laurel, you need to understand something. I never worried about my reputation or my future because I didn’t have anything left. I didn’t think I deserved it. I…didn’t think I’d live…to be happy.” Oliver was looking out the window as he spoke, his voice softer and more humble than Laurel had ever heard. Now he turned to face her. “Everything…everything is so different now. I know that there’s a future out there for me, more than I could have ever hoped for. And I don’t want to see you get lost in the same destructive haze that blinded me for so long. You’ve been hurting long enough and you deserve a life, a real life.” He exhaled, as though saying all those words exhausted him. Perhaps it had; Laurel couldn’t remember when he’d said so much, so thoughtfully. He seemed different, now.

Laurel studied Oliver, as though he were a stranger to her. “Ollie,” she started. “I can see that you mean well here, but you don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my life. _My_ choice. The blackmailer is after me, not anyone else. This is my problem. I really appreciate everyone’s help but I can do this on my own now.” Outwardly, she struggled to maintain a calm facade, but inside her fury simmered. How dare he try to try and manipulate her!

Oliver looked defeated. “But you don’t have to. Please. Let us help you. Trust me. Just go home and try to clear your head. I’ll call you soon.”

Laurel was quiet while she came to a decision. Then she spoke. “Ok, Ollie. You win. This time. I’ll go home and be a good little girl.” She hoped she came off as self-deprecating and humble.

Oliver seemed to be studying her as well. “I’m trusting you with this information. Promise me you won’t do anything…stupid. Even if it’s not important to you, it’s important to me.”

Laurel nodded. “Promise.”

Oliver looked at her for a long time, studying Laurel, perhaps examining her face for signs that she was lying. It was unnerving and she willed her breath to slow, to calm her heartbeat. They drove the rest of the way to her apartment building in silence. As Laurel got out of the car, Oliver leaned over to her and said, “As soon as we know anything, we’ll call you, ok? Get some rest.”

Laurel offered a fleeting smile. “I know. Good night, Ollie.” She swung her duffel over her shoulder and walked up the front steps, fishing her keys from her pocket. She didn’t turn around, but she knew Oliver was waiting in the car, watching to make sure she went into her building. Her mind was whirling with all the new information and Laurel began planning her next move as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Oliver watched Laurel enter her building from inside the car, the engine purring like a contented kitten. Though his face was expressionless, feelings of regret, fear, sadness and even a little anger all warred for dominance in Oliver’s head. He pulled out his phone and dialed Felicity.

“Soooo…how’d it go?” Felicity asked gently. 

Oliver sighed. “Well, she lied to my face. So there’s that.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Then again, I did that to her so many times in the past…I guess I deserved it.”

Felicity didn’t respond immediately but he could hear her breathing, light and quick. “Oliver, what you did was…bad, but it was also years ago. And this is an entirely different situation.”

“I know. It’s just so hard when you see someone about to make a terrible mistake and you can’t do anything about it…” Oliver put the car in drive and slowly pulled into the road.

“Tell me about it.” Felicity’s voice was flat, and Oliver could picture her expression, her lips pressed together in a line, her brows drawn together slightly. “I still have her laptop, so I found two internet cafes, one near her building and one near the Justice building. Plus, she might try to look up Ms. Carmichael on her work computer, so I’ll be monitoring those locations.”

“Good,” said Oliver. “Did you find Carmichael yet?”

“A car matching her license plates and model passed through the exit 72 toll booth earlier today and it showed up on traffic cams near her apartment, so it looks like she’s back in town. Should we…pay her a visit?” Felicity sounded uncertain.

“No, that’d be a bad idea. If she knows Laurel’s identity, then it’s a fair bet she knows about us, or at least suspects our involvement as Starling’s vigilantes. But we should keep her under surveillance.” Oliver was almost to Thea’s apartment.

“It seems that Petrowicz was mostly interested in Laurel for the creepy peeping tom factor. Carmichael is the one who was after the secret identities. If she was planning an expose on Laurel, then Petrowicz revealing to Laurel that he knew that she is Black Canary could put her big scoop in jeopardy. But is that really worth killing for?” Felicity wondered.

Oliver pulled into the parking garage below the apartment building. “Well, you saw Carmichael’s history. She had two restraining orders against her from ex-boyfriends, charges of stalking, and court-ordered anger management classes. And you said she was dismissed from her job at the Daily Planet when she was living in Metropolis--”

Felicity sighed. “Yeah, my source there wasn’t too fond of her. Plagiarism isn’t a good way to make friends and earn respect at a newspaper.”

“Ok, I’m in the elevator. See you in a minute.” Oliver closed his phone. He was impatient to get upstairs; it seemed an eternity for the soft chime that announced he’d arrived at his floor. The doors parted and Oliver slipped past them, across the short hallway, key in his hand and unlocked the door. Felicity was already walking towards him and he caught her up in a hug, holding her as though he were afraid Felicity would disappear if he let go.

Felicity sounded alarmed. “Oliver, what is it? What’s wrong?” He could hear Thea’s soft footsteps and she came over to where they stood.

Oliver willed his heart to slow down. “I - I’m not entirely sure. I just have a terrible feeling that something worse is coming…and it scares me.” He finally relaxed his embrace and stepped back so he could look into Felicity’s eyes. She looked frightened. “We’ve been away these past few months and it’s been wonderful, like a dream. We left the nightmares behind us. But now--” Oliver paused, searching for the right words. “Now, we’re back here and Laurel’s in trouble and I’m afraid that she might do something…wrong. Something she can’t come back from. Something she’ll regret…”

Thea had been quiet but now she spoke up. “Laurel’s killed in self-defense before and she’s managed to deal with the repercussions. She told me about it over the summer. But you’re talking about cold blood.” 

Oliver nodded. Thea continued. “I wish I could say for certain that I know she wouldn’t do that. But I can’t. Working with her these past few months, I’ve learned there’s a…darkness underneath it all. It fuels her, but one of these days…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish her thought out loud.

Felicity looked up at Oliver, offered a smile, her blue eyes shining. “Look, we’re keeping an eye on her and whatever happens, we’ll be there to keep her safe.” She tilted her head in that familiar way that still made Oliver happy. “But Oliver, she’s her own person and you have to let her make her own choices. And mistakes.”

Oliver sighed. “I just feel that…I owe her. She deserves a life, free of my drama and lies…where she can just be--”

Thea interrupted. “Ok, Ollie, I need to jump in here. After everything that all of us, Laurel included, has been through together, what makes you think she even _wants_ a normal life? I mean, we put on masks and fight crime, instead of binge-watching House of Cards or something on Netflix.” She smiled her crooked little smile. “And who are you to tell her what sort of life she ought to have? You saw how well it worked with me.”

Smoothing the front of Oliver’s jacket, like she was attempting to calm an irritated tiger, Felicity spoke in a soothing voice. “No one here doubts that you have suffered terrible things and that you’ve tried to make amends for all your past…misdeeds. Even Laurel knows that. But you don’t owe her a normal life, and she doesn’t seem to want one. All we can do is be there for each other.” Oliver looked deep into her blue eyes and just wanted to fall into them. Felicity smiled and he felt himself relax, just a bit. He was able to focus and settle the chaos inside.

Oliver stepped back from Felicity, so he could look at both her and Thea. “Here’s my problem,” he began hesitantly. “I’ve…killed people. Sometimes it was out of self-preservation. Sometimes to protect the ones I love. So how do I convince Laurel that killing is wrong without being a total hypocrite? Would she kill to keep her secret? And if she does, what then?”

Thea nodded, resigned. “It’s not like we can call the cops on her.”

Outside the apartment, the mist had given way to rain, and it made silvery tracks down the huge glass windows. There was a brief flash, and a few seconds later, a dull, distant rumble.

“Maybe we talk to Quentin Lance then,” Felicity suggested. “Has Laurel even told him about any of this yet?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. But maybe her father can guide her where we can’t.”

“Is it our place to tell him?” asked Thea. “Laurel is not going to like our interference.”

“By placing Laurel under surveillance, we’re already interfering. And she likely knows that.” Oliver sighed. “How much more pissed at me can she get? Might as well go the distance…”

Felicity shot him a glare. “Don’t say stuff like that. It just invites disaster.”

Straightening his posture, Oliver came to a decision. “Ok, let’s look at this. I think it’s more than likely that Laurel is going to try to contact Tracey Carmichael. Hopefully, just to talk, maybe even try to get a confession out of her for the murder of Gordon Petrowicz. How do we give Laurel what she wants: a sense of closure, justice served, without it resulting in another homicide?” In the past, Oliver felt more comfortable keeping his thoughts and plans to himself, but now it was different. He’d learned the hard way that it was far better to let his friends in. He hoped that Felicity appreciated his openness and understood that it was hard to break old habits.

He looked over at her and their eyes met; she nodded. She knew.

“Well,” said Thea. “For starters, we need to be up front with Laurel. Just tell her the truth. Let her know our fears and that we want to help her bring Carmichael to justice. We’ll figure out a way to do that without blowing our secrets out into the open. I think she’ll appreciate that we’re not sneaking around behind her back. You know, like we have been so far.”

Another flash of lightning; almost immediately followed by an enormous crack of thunder. Felicity flinched involuntarily and the lights flickered briefly. 

“Thea’s right,” Felicity said. “So let’s plan on talking to Laurel in the morning and getting everything out in the open.”


	7. Every Word You Say

Before the eight o’clock bells had rung at the old cathedral down the street from the Justice building, Laurel was at her desk. She wanted to get ahead of her tasks, because she knew she would need time later on. Hearing footsteps, Laurel took a peek to see it was Luke Morelli. She smiled and greeted him brightly. “Morning, Luke!”

He looked up, surprised and then returned the smile. “Hey, Laurel. You’re here early. Trying to get back in Francis’ good graces?”

Laurel gave a rueful laugh. “You caught me. Just trying to get on top of things. Hey, would you mind if I borrowed your computer for a minute? Mine isn’t booting up. I called IT but they haven’t come yet, and there was something I needed to check for the Huang case.”

Always wanting to please, Luke nodded. “No problem. Go right ahead. I need to get some coffee first anyhow.”

“Thanks so much!” Laurel waited for him to open his computer and then gratefully took the seat Luke offered. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Take your time. I might need two cups of coffee this morning. The storm kept me up all night.” Luke rubbed his eyes wearily.

Laurel immediately began a search for Tracey Carmichael. She saw that Carmichael was employed at the Starling City Tribune. That she’d been previously dismissed from the Daily Planet in Metropolis. The restraining orders. The court-ordered anger management classes. Laurel felt certain that she’d found her stalker’s killer. And the person who could ruin her life forever. Laurel jotted down the number for the Tribune on a scrap of yellow legal paper and hastily erased the search history. Hopefully Luke wouldn’t notice.

 

Holding two steaming cups of coffee, Oliver waited across the street from Police Headquarters. After a few minutes, Quentin Lance exited the building and headed towards him. Lance appraised him for a few seconds before speaking. He accepted the coffee with a nod.

“Have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you, Mr. Queen.” Quentin sounded gruff and wary. “What did Laurel do?”

Oliver didn’t look away from Lance’s gaze. “It’s not what she’s done. It’s what she might do.”

The policeman looked up and sighed, irritated. “Quit being cryptic, Queen. I don’t have time for this crap.”

“Laurel was being cyber-stalked and now she’s being blackmailed. Her blackmailers know her secret identity and they are trying to frame her for a murder,” Oliver said coolly.

Quentin’s eyes grew wide; his lips parted, but he seemed to be searching for words. After a few beats, he finally asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“We believe that the stalking has been going on for several months, but the murder just happened a few days ago near Central City. Her stalker was beaten to death with a pipe, most likely by the stalker’s partner, who lives here in Starling. Laurel’s prints are on the pipe. But we know she didn’t kill him.” Oliver watched the older man closely, trying to get a read on his emotions.

Quentin looked stunned, and again seemed at a loss for words. “Of course she didn’t say a word of this to me.” He sounded grim and resigned. “I have to assume your buddy at the CCPD is hiding the evidence, otherwise I would have expected to hear from them by now.”

Oliver nodded. “The stalker’s partner is a woman named Tracey Carmichael, a reporter for the Starling Tribune. She seems to be the most likely culprit for both the blackmail and the murder. Laurel now knows who she is and…” here Oliver hesitated. “We’re afraid that she might do something, well, _drastic_.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Lance breathed. “And you’re sure this Carmichael lady is behind it?”

“Yes,” replied Oliver simply. 

“Well, you may not have noticed, Queen, since you’ve been out gallivanting who knows where, but Laurel and I…well, we aren’t on the best terms. I don’t think she’ll listen to me either. What do you expect me to do, exactly?” Quentin seemed less angry, more resigned. Oliver felt some sympathy for the older man, despite their past animosities.

“Please, just try to talk to her. She’s not listening to me and I don’t want to see her end up like--” Oliver stopped, unsure of his words.

“Like the Harper kid?” Quentin Lance’s eyes seemed to bore into him. “I think we both know that Roy wasn’t _really_ the Arr--”

“Just talk to Laurel, ok?” Oliver interrupted hastily. He was uncomfortable and found himself desperately wishing to be anywhere else. Preferably with Felicity.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Queen,” the policeman rasped. They glared at each other, the hostile silence nearly palpable. But Lance broke first. “Ok, I’ll speak to her. After all, she’s the only daughter I’ve got left.” He had to get one last jab in there.

Internally, Oliver winced in shame. But he gave no indication of his feelings and simply said, “Thank you.”

The older man said nothing for a moment, then nodded once. “Thanks for the coffee.” He turned and walked slowly back to Police Headquarters. Oliver watched him enter the building, then pulled out his phone and called Felicity.

“Talked to Lance. I think I got through to him,” Oliver said without preamble. “Are you sure you want to talk to Laurel yourself? Maybe Thea or I--”

“No way,” Felicity interrupted him. “You talking to Laurel is the worst idea. There’s too much…history between you.”

“And Laurel’s going to listen to you? The new girlfriend of her ex-boyfriend?” Oliver was skeptical. He walked briskly towards the subway, fishing his metrocard out of his pocket.

“Yes,” said Felicity firmly, but Oliver could sense that she was not as confident as she sounded.

“Ok, boss,” he said breezily, as he descended the concrete stairs to the metro stop. A faint rumbling warned of an approaching train. “Taking the subway. I’ll be home in a little bit.”


	8. Every Smile You Fake

Laurel waited outside the Starling City Tribune’s building, casually leaning against a stone planter, like many others, some having lunch, some taking a smoke break. She pretended to take an interest in the brilliant pink petunias and purple sweet potato vines that threatened to overflow the planter, while she surreptitiously scanned the building entrance for her target: Ms. Tracey Carmichael. According to Ms. Carmichael’s driver’s license, she was 5’4”, red hair that came from a bottle and not nature, 155 pounds. Her face would have been almost pretty if it weren’t for the permanent expression of disappointment.

A quick phone call to the metro department informed Laurel that Carmichael always took lunch at 11:30. She had posed as a clerk returning a phone call regarding a story on the corruption that ran rampant throughout the city’s government. Unsurprisingly, the young man on the other end accepted Laurel’s lie without pause.

People emerged from the newspaper building in small groups of three or four, but none included Laurel’s nemesis. Finally, after what seemed like an eon, there she was, alone, dressed in an unflattering shade of yellow that clashed for prominence with her bright red hair. Ms. Carmichael seemed unaware of Laurel’s scrutiny, absorbed in rummaging through her purse, walking awkwardly in shiny black stiletto heels. Tracey Carmichael pulled out a long, narrow brown cigarette from a case and was about to light it, when she looked up and met Laurel’s gaze. Carmichael paused, then slipped her lighter into her coat pocket and began walking directly towards Laurel. 

Laurel’s stomach quivered in anxiety and a tiny part of her screamed at her to leave immediately, but she stood her ground as Tracey Carmichael got closer and closer. She willed herself to appear impassive, but her anger was slowly simmering again and Laurel wondered if she’d be able to keep her cool. Just feet away, Carmichael smiled widely and raised her arms. “Darling!” she exclaimed warmly, but her eyes were as dark and flat as a shark’s. “It’s so _good_ to see you!” She embraced Laurel as though they were old friends and Laurel felt as though she should just play along. She returned the hug, nearly overwhelmed by the smell of cigarettes and the cloying scent of the other woman’s shampoo. Despite Tracey’s heels, Laurel still felt as though she towered over her.

They moved apart and Tracey Carmichael regarded Laurel with a smug little smile. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Laurel nodded, just trying to keep her breath even and calm. The bubbling fury inside was growing with each second. The two women walked toward the large fountain in the center of the plaza in front of the Tribune building.

Realizing Laurel wasn’t going to speak first, Tracey sighed dramatically and said, “I have to admit, I was wondering _when_ you were ever going to show up here.” Her smile widened in pleasure at Laurel’s surprise. “Oh please…of course I realized that you’d eventually track me down. In fact, I was looking forward to it. And now here you are!” Her eyes glittered under her heavily mascaraed lashes. She pulled the lighter from her pocket and was about to light the cigarette, and then stopped. “How thoughtless of me! I nearly forgot, you don’t smoke.” And she put the cigarette and lighter away, regarding Laurel intently.

Mentally, Laurel started and discarded several insults before finally just blurting out, “I know you killed Gordon Petrowicz.” She cursed herself for her bluntness, but her anger was boiling just beneath the surface and it was all she could do not to smack Carmichael in her self-satisfied face.

Tracey gave a look of mock horror, her hand pressed to her breast. “Oh good heavens! What an accusation!” The she glanced at Laurel through lowered lashes. “I’m afraid I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. Though I am surprised at how slow the forensics department is in Central City.” She gave another sigh. “I would have expected some more developments in the case by now. Perhaps Daddy Dearest is looking out for his wayward daughter?” Tracey clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Such an abuse of police power. Who knew that the corruption in Starling City has now spread to Central City? Careers are on the line, heads will roll…and I’ll be there to unveil the story to the world.” Carmichael’s voice took on a dreamy quality, her head cocked to one side, her eyes skyward as she detailed her ambitions. “It’ll be sensational, really. Assistant DA by day, vigilante by night! Think of the headlines! _My_ headlines. You couldn’t make this story up. It’s too good--”

“What do you want from me?” Laurel spat. Breathe easy, Laurel, keep cool…

Tracey looked amused. “From you? Nothing, really. Though the look on your face is quite gratifying, I must say. No, that’s not fair. I should be more gracious. I owe you a great deal, actually. I mean, most reporters never get a scoop this good. And I’ve worked so hard for this. For years, I’ve had to struggle in the shadows and now it’s my turn to shine.”

“You’re not going to get away with this. We’re going to stop you.” Laurel’s heart was pounding in her chest, and the light breeze in the air raised goosebumps on her skin. The wind caught water droplets from the fountain and Laurel felt them splash against her face.

“We?” Carmichael echoed. “Would that be your little friend in Central City, what’s his name? Oh yes, Barry Allen? It’s amazing he still has a job, honestly. Or perhaps closer to home? Felicity Smoak was rumored to be quite the hacker back in her MIT days. Maybe she’s not as reformed as once thought? Or would it be Oliver Queen, your lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, otherwise known as the Arrow? Let’s face it, it’s not a coincidence the secret lair was right underneath his sister’s nightclub. And if anyone believes that poor dead Harper boy was actually the vigilante, then they need their eyes examined. There’s got to be nearly a foot difference in height--” Tracey stopped, noting the cold fury in the younger woman’s eyes. She shook her head slightly and then continued. “How thoughtless of me! I can see I’ve upset you. You see, I know all about you. And really, I can be your ally here. I can tell your story, be your advocate. Of course, you’ll lose your law license and probably go to prison, but I can rally the people to your side. We should be partners here. We’re like sisters, fighting against--”

Laurel had had enough. “You’re no sister of mine,” she snarled. “And I’ve seen what you do to your partners.”

“Now that was a bit of a low blow, darling,” Tracey scolded. “Casualties of war,” she added nonchalantly. “Oh, and I’m afraid that your recording device isn’t going to be of much use. The fountain makes everything sound garbled.” Again, she smiled as Laurel betrayed her surprise with a small gasp. “You’d make a terrible poker player.”

Her thoughts reeling, Laurel simply asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”

The mask dropped, and Tracey Carmichael spoke with bitterness. “Because it’s owed to me. It’s _my_ turn. All my life, I’ve had to watch others waltz off with what’s mine. And now I’m going to take it.” And then the facade was back in place, the saccharine smile returned. Laurel itched to punch her in the mouth. “It’s not personal, darling. It’s just my turn. You’ve already had yours.” She glanced at her phone. “Look at the time! I’ve really got to be going. And so should you. I hear DA Francis has been none too pleased with you as of late. This has been so rewarding, on so many levels, Miss Lance. We ought to continue this later. There’s an empty warehouse at the docks, at Pier 11. Building number 5. Midnight. Looking forward to it!” She blew a kiss at Laurel, then lit her cigarette finally and headed back towards the newspaper building.

Laurel could only stare with hatred at the retreating yellow form of Tracey Carmichael. She was nearly shaking with rage and fear. Her thoughts were careening wildly; Carmichael knew too much! She knew about Felicity, she suspected rightly that Oliver was the Arrow, she knew Barry Allen was connected to them somehow…Laurel needed to warn them. Suddenly, her phone began to ring and Laurel nearly shrieked out loud. She forced herself to take a deep breath and then she pulled out the phone. Felicity. Thank god.

“Laurel? So glad I caught you. Look, I need to talk to you--”

Laurel cut her off. “I need to talk to you too. I just met with that Carmichael woman and she knows everything! Or at least--”

Now it was Felicity’s turn to interrupt. “Wait, you talked to her? As in face to face? Where are you?” Felicity sounded shocked and alarmed. 

Laurel felt both guilty and annoyed. Did the others think she needed a babysitter? “Does it matter? Just meet me at the Justice Building.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” Felicity sounded subdued, which raised Laurel’s suspicions. What else was going on? With those thoughts swirling in her head, she shouldered her purse and began walking back to her office.


	9. Every Bond You Break

Felicity was waiting at the steps of the Justice building, in a neat grey suit, ponytail and black heels, her yoga pants and sweatshirt look banished. She seemed to be anxious but relaxed as she saw Laurel approaching.

“Let’s go inside,” Laurel suggested. “It’s relatively private in my office.” Felicity nodded.

D.A. Francis still seemed to be out and the other A.D.A.’s were busy or at lunch, so it was quiet when Laurel ushered Felicity into her office.

“Carmichael practically admitted to killing Petrowicz to my face. And she knows, or at least, she thinks she knows about your involvement with the Arrow, she told me that she knows that the vigilante really is Oliver and not Roy. I mean, she has no proof, but she threatened to expose all of us. She even suspects Barry Allen, though she doesn’t seem to know about him being, you know--”

“Let me get this straight - she’s doing this for a story?” Felicity sounded stunned. “All this is for a scoop?” 

Laurel leaned back in her chair. “You have to admit,” she said ruefully. “It would make a pretty good headline.” She rubbed her eyes wearily.

“Laurel,” Felicity said hesitantly. “We - I mean Oliver and Thea and Diggle and me, we are worried for you. Everything that’s happened to you, well, it has to be totally stressing you out. I mean, I don’t even know how you can even go to work…” 

Laurel smiled wryly. “Well, Oliver had a point: I don’t really have a choice. Hiding out would only make me look guilty.” She sighed. “Never thought I’d be saying he was right about anything…”

Felicity returned the smile. “Tell me about it.” The two women both gave a small laugh and then broke eye contact. 

“Do I want to kill that Carmichael woman? Hell, yes!” Laurel admitted. “Well, not really. Send her to prison, I guess.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I mean, she’s not going to keep quiet. She’ll talk, and then all of us…well, things are going to get very complicated. Me, you, my dad, Oliver, Thea, Diggle, Lyla…god, what a mess.” Laurel looked at Felicity. “Don’t worry, I’m not going all dark on you. You even said it, I’m not dark the way…the way Sara was…” She trailed off, gazing a shaft of sunlight, watching tiny motes swirl around. Laurel became aware that Felicity was quiet, almost too quiet, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She looked at her, an unease collecting inside her. “What is it?”

Felicity returned her gaze hesitantly. “I know I said that…but…” She didn’t finish, avoiding Laurel’s concerned expression. “You were hurting and we all were so devastated by Sara’s…that Sara was gone and I just wanted to make you feel better.” Felicity fiddled with her necklace. “But lately, it seems like there’s a--a darkness that seems to take over sometimes. And we were afraid that you might cross over a line that you can’t come back from.”

Laurel felt a roiling in her gut and the rage from earlier began simmering once more. There was that “we” again. She squeezed her eyes shut. So what exactly was Felicity trying to say? “So all those things you said to me, about having a light inside that Sara never had…all that was just bullshit?” Her voice was tight and clipped.

Felicity hung her head. “I’m sorry, Laurel,” she said in a small voice. “I should have been more honest with you, but I didn’t know what to say.” She raised her head and Laurel saw Felicity’s eyes glistening with tears behind the glasses. But Laurel found it difficult to care.

“Maybe--” Laurel took a controlled breath. “Maybe you ought to go now.” She couldn’t meet Felicity’s eyes. She was trying not to scream. Everyone just kept lying to her! They were all hypocrites, just pushing her aside, never taking her seriously.

Felicity nodded, and rose from her chair, adjusting her purse. She turned for the door, but then paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Laurel? About Carmichael. What did you talk about?”

Laurel focused on a spot near the ceiling, above Felicity’s head. “She wants to meet. Tonight, at midnight. Pier 11. Building 5. I think she wants to make a deal.” She hoped her voice sounded neutral.

“Ok. We’ll be there to back you up.” Felicity sounded more like herself. “And I really am sorry. For everything.”

Laurel nodded, saying nothing, wishing that Felicity would just leave already. At the sound of the door closing, she finally looked to see her office was empty. She exhaled noisily, slouching back in her seat. Everything seemed too quiet, almost like she was watching the world from behind a pane of glass. Her fists clenched and unclenched, her heart was beating too fast in her chest, there was a roaring in her head and Laurel squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make it all go away. The sound of fluttering wings startled her and she sat upright with a gasp, remembering the dream, Sara’s words, the suffocating darkness. Outside her window, two pigeons were fighting for space on the ledge. Clouds were moving in from the west, obscuring the horizon, chasing away the sunlight. Rain was coming.


	10. I Long For Your Embrace

Oliver could tell something was wrong as soon as he saw Felicity in the doorway of Thea’s apartment. She looked subdued, haunted and he thought that she might have been crying.  
He went to her immediately and without saying a word, just gathered Felicity into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

Felicity looked up at Oliver, her eyes shining a bit too brightly from unshed tears. “I messed up, Oliver,” she confessed, her voice small and trembling. “I went to Laurel to talk, to get things out into the open and I think I made things worse…”

Oliver drew his brows together in concern. “What happened?”

“Laurel was assuring me that she wasn’t ‘going dark’ on us, that she wasn’t going to kill Carmichael out of revenge, and I--I guess I told her I was afraid that she really did have a darkness inside her. When Sara died, she was so devastated and I just wanted to make her feel better and I said some things…that weren’t really true. And now Laurel is just so mad. I could see her go cold and I know she doesn’t trust me anymore. But how could she? I told her something that I didn’t mean and now--” Her tears were flowing now and she sniffed.

Oliver snagged a tissue from the box in the hallway and Felicity took it gratefully. “Look, you meant well. I know you never meant to hurt Laurel, even if she doesn’t know that. We just have to keep going, be there. Even if Laurel keeps pushing us away. She needs support, even if she won’t admit it.” Oliver hoped he sounded confident; internally, he was alarmed. Laurel was unpredictable; who knows what she might do.

Felicity nodded and she seemed slightly relieved. “Where’s Thea?”

“She went to John’s house to help out with the baby. I told her that we'd cover Laurel tonight. I need Dig with me.” Oliver knew anything might happen in the next few hours.

D.A. Francis seemed to be in a less than generous mood and stayed in her office, with the door open, until well past 7 PM. No one dared leave before the D.A., so everyone continued working in near silence until finally Francis packed up and left with a terse “Good night.” Laurel couldn't wait to shut down her computer. She felt stifled and confined, as though the walls were closing in on her. Laurel forced herself to give a friendly wave and a smile to her coworkers as she left, trying not to walk too fast. _Must stay calm. Smile, wave, nod. Go through the motions._ When Laurel finally slammed the door shut to her car, she exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath. She jammed the key and turned on the engine, and when her tires screeched a little as she zipped out of the parking garage, she didn’t give a shit.

It seemed like a miracle that Laurel encountered no one as she entered her building. She didn’t know how much longer she could fake normalcy. She dumped her bags unceremoniously on the floor as soon as she entered her apartment and headed to her bedroom. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she pulled the black bodysuit from her closet. A smile curved her lips as she hefted the tonfa in her hand. At last…something made sense. She undressed quickly, her fingers nimbly unbuttoning and unzipping, then sliding into the cool, slick black suit. A thrill ran down her spine as she fastened the closures and buckles and her lips parted in a tiny silent gasp. Laurel packed the tonfa and her mask into a small duffel. After a moment of hesitation, Laurel opened the small safe at the bottom of her closet and withdrew the gun inside. She loaded it, then placed it in the duffel. Laurel put on a long trench coat, which concealed most of her suit; she would be able to pass down the back staircase of her building without drawing any attention. Few used it and it led directly to the basement which provided the perfect exit.

Laurel was going to teach that murderous blackmailing bitch that no one messed with the Black Canary. Or her friends. Even former friends.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear something a little more…protective?” Felicity was trying not to sound too worried and failing miserably. Oliver found it adorable and a bit distracting and hoped he wasn’t letting it show. He pulled on a leather jacket over his green hoodie. He’d thought he was done with the hood, but now he was beginning to realize that perhaps the hood was not quite done with _him_.

“I’ll be fine, Felicity.” He kissed her forehead gently and looked into her clear blue eyes. “The last thing anyone wants is violence. I’m confident we can resolve this without anyone getting hurt.” Oliver bent his head and kissed her lips, soft at first, then more deeply as their lips parted and tongues darted. He pulled away first. “Things will get back to normal soon, I promise.” He smiled and cupped her face, his thumb rubbing her cheek.

Felicity gave him a wry smile. “What _is_ normal for us, anyway?” She went to her computer and leaned in to look at the screen. “I’ve set up the comms so we’ll all be able to keep in touch at all times. John will meet you at the docks in an hour.” She paused and then asked, “Any word from Laurel?”

Oliver shook his head. “Don’t worry, she’ll be there. And we’ll get Carmichael. She won’t be hurting any more people.” He walked over to the kitchen island and quietly regarded what lay on it. “But just in case…” He hefted the bow in his hand, felt the familiar weight settle in like an old friend. He pulled the quiver over his head and settle it into place.

Felicity nodded once. “Just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on finishing this as quick as I can! Thanks for reading so far!


	11. I Feel So Cold

Tiny droplets misted across curved surface of Laurel’s helmet as she sped along the highway on her motorcycle. Weaving around the other vehicles sharing the road with her, she saw the glitter of lights on the choppy water of the harbor, the crowd of buildings at the docks a low, hulking shape at its edge, like a panther crouching in the shadows. Anticipation buzzed within her, a quivering bird beating inside her chest. Soon, very soon, things were going to change…

Laurel took the harbor exit, her bike clinging to the curves as she reduced speed. There were few other cars and once she turned onto the main marina road, she was alone. Sporadic chatter from Oliver, John and Felicity crackled through her earpiece, but she had remained silent and largely ignored them. They had secured the outer perimeter and had spotted Tracey Carmichael’s car in an outer lot, but no sign of the woman otherwise. Everyone seemed subdued and Laurel took a small satisfaction that it was because of her. They were afraid of her. And she didn’t mind that at all.

Boats bobbed haphazardly, tethered at their berths; the wind was picking up and the precipitation had intensified from a drizzle to a steady rain. Oliver turned up the collar of his coat and pulled his hood further over his head. The weather was only going to get worse, making it even hard to conduct surveillance. This particular section of the docks was decently lit, but Pier 11 had been badly damaged by Slade’s Mirakuru army and had mostly been abandoned. So, great for shady midnight meetings; less so for stealthy spying on said meetings. He slipped quickly through the shadows until he reached the beginning of Pier 11.

“I’m moving into position, Oliver,” Diggle’s voice sounded in his ear, a cool, collected presence. “There’s still a lot of debris here so be careful where you step. I’m having trouble identifying the building numbers. Don’t want to use any light to give ourselves away, but the rain is interfering with the night vision and infrared sensors. Stay alert.”

“Copy that,” Oliver replied. He gripped his bow tightly and moved in. “Felicity, according to the map, I ought to be right next to Building 2, correct?” He could faintly make out a number 2 on the wall before him, paint flaking away like peeling skin.

“Affirmative. Keep moving north and you ought to see 5 very soon.” Her voice was brisk and efficient in his ear, helping to quell the uneasiness brewing in his gut.

Laurel was grateful for the night vision goggles, but briefly envied Thea’s hood, as the rain soaked her hair. Wet strands began to cling to her face at the wind whipped it about. She had passed the burnt out hulk of Building 5 without running into Oliver or Diggle and she was relieved. No interference.

The massive entrance to Building 6 was like a great, gaping black maw of nothingness. Laurel paused for a moment, then strode forward into the inky darkness. She strained to discern any movement, to listen for footsteps, but in the end, it was Tracey Carmichael who revealed herself by flicking on her flashlight under her chin, and whispering “Boo!” Laurel was irritated by the childishness of the gesture and said so.

“I didn't come here to play games, Carmichael,” Laurel spat. “Let's get this over with.” 

Tracey pouted. “You're no fun.” Then her expression brightened. “I must say, this is my first good look at your outfit and it doesn't disappoint! Very 50 shades, darling. Though the fingerless gloves did give me pause. Fingerprints! I would think an assistant ADA would have been more careful.” She bent down to a lantern on the ground next to her boots and switched it on. “In anticipation of our meeting, I got a new outfit!” Tracey ran her fingers over the lapels of the black motorcycle jacket. “It's a bit above the old budget, but I figured, what the hell. I expect my financial situation to improve very soon.” Carmichael smiled and Laurel had to suppress a shudder.

“You're delusional,” Laurel declared. She crossed her arms and glared at the other woman. 

Carmichael cocked her head to one side. “Am I? You're the one wearing a mask and skin tight black leather.” 

Her stomach churned and Laurel decided that she'd heard enough. “You're going to give me all the evidence you collected on me and my friends. You're going to turn yourself in to the police and confess to the murder of Gordon Petrowicz. And you're not going to reveal the identity of the Black Canary or anyone else.”

Tracey threw her head back at Laurel’s words and began to laugh. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Laurel, you are are killing me! Now, why in the world would I do that? Especially since the police ought to be on their way already. I called them not five minutes ago, informing them that you’d be here. And while the cops no longer are hunting the Arrow, they certainly are interested in speaking to the new vigilantes who’ve stepped up after his untimely demise.” Carmichael stepped closer to Laurel and while she still smirked, her eyes were cold. “No, my dear, you are going to tell me everything. Who your vigilante compatriots are, where your secret hideout is, all of it. Oh, and if you happen to know the true identity of that Flash fellow over in Central City, that’d be fabulous.”

Lightning flashed and everything was illuminated for a split second. A moment later, a tremendous crash of thunder shook the sky. The storm was nearly on top of them.

“And why would I do that?” Laurel snarled. She uncrossed her arms; slowly, she reached for the gun in her thigh holster. 

Tracey Carmichael raised her hand. She held a smartphone. “See this? One press of a button, and everything I have on you gets published online for everyone to see. All the photos I took following you around. The fingerprints from the pipe I used to frame you for Petrowicz’s death. People will start asking questions and when they do, life as you know it will be over.”

Exhaling sharply, Laurel drew the gun and pointed it at Carmichael. “No, I think your life is over.” She felt oddly calm. The pounding in her chest was subsiding and the knots in her stomach had eased.

The other woman looked unimpressed. She snorted dismissively. “You’re not going to shoot me. You don’t –” Tracey Carmichael never finished her sentence, because of the bullet that smashed into her chest, knocking her to the ground. Laurel never blinked, despite the ringing in her ears and the smell of cordite stinging her nostrils. She stood over Carmichael, as the woman lay bleeding at Laurel’s feet, her eyes wide with genuine fear, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You – you can’t…” Tracey pleaded faintly. Laurel was unmoved. She raised the gun once more and fired, striking Carmichael in the face. She was dead and her blood was spattered on Laurel’s boots.

“I just did.” said Laurel flatly. She didn’t feel horrified or angry. A strange peace spread through her. It was over, at last.


	12. Baby, Baby, Please

“Laurel!”

She whirled around at her name. A figure was running towards her, through the darkness. She tightened her grip on the gun. But she knew, before she saw the green hoodie and the bow, that it was Oliver.

He stopped at the body on the ground; knelt down and reached to take a pulse, but then withdrew in surprise as a flash of lightning revealed the ruin that once had been Tracey Carmichael’s face. Oliver looked up at Laurel, shock and despair on his face. “Laurel, what did you do?” he asked.

Laurel frowned in confusion. “I saved us. All of us. She was blackmailing me and she was going to do the same to all of you.”

Surprise was turning to anger; she could see it in Oliver’s face. She found herself growing angry in return. “No one was going to do what it took to stop her. So I did-”

Oliver stood and closed the distance between them in one step. He seemed to be struggling to contain his rage. “You lied to us. To me. You deliberately lied about where the meeting was. Diggle and I had been searching the ruins of Building 5 when we heard the shot. You planned this. You murdered her –”

Something boiled over inside her. “Oh, shut up!” Laurel screamed. “You’ve murdered I don’t know how many people! You lied to me over and over and over again for years! Why is it okay when you do it, but it’s not okay for me? This woman was going to destroy everything!” She was breathing heavily. “So I destroyed her first.”

Oliver was quiet, his eyes deep in shadow, lit by the sallow light of Carmichael’s lantern. Overhead, the storm was beginning to weaken, the lightning less frequent, thunder rumbling like an enormous cat’s purr. “It’s not okay. Not for me, not for you. I have paid the price and will continue to pay until the day I die.”

Sirens in the distance grew louder. Oliver pleaded with Laurel. “The police are coming. Your dad is coming. Your prints are on that gun. If they find you, you will go to jail.” 

For the first time all day, Laurel felt a tingling of fear, as the adrenaline surged through her. “So help me! Help me hide the body, get rid of it–”

“No.”

Laurel stared at Oliver, stunned. “What? You said the police are coming…” She felt panic creeping in, the roiling feeling in her stomach returning.

“I asked you not to do this. Begged, pleaded. I told you this life is dangerous. It changes you, makes you break promises, do things you never thought–” Oliver broke off. His jaw was clenched and his hands had curled into fists. The sirens were much louder now, and blue and red flashes punctuated the darkness. They were almost here.

“You’re always trying to tell me what to do! I did what I thought–”

“That’s that problem!” Oliver interrupted roughly. “You think you’re right and you never stop to consider what your actions could mean for the rest of us!”

Laurel was about to retort, when the squeal of tires and the slamming of car doors caught both their attentions. Oliver turned to her. “Give me the gun,” he said, his voice very low and flat. “Get out of here. Run and hide. We’ll get in touch and figure out what to do.”

“But–” Laurel began to protest.

“For once in your life, Dinah Laurel Lance, please listen to me!” Oliver hissed. “Go. We need to get you out of the city. Stay out of sight and I will be in touch.” He was angry but that sad resignation she’d seen in him the past few days was taking over. She nodded and melted into the darkness.

Oliver watched Laurel go, then spoke quietly into his comm. “Diggle, I hope the hell you are nowhere near here.”

“Roger that. I was going to try to move Laurel’s bike, but the cops had already found it. I’m moving west on Centennial Boulevard. What’s your status?” Diggle’s voice was strangely calming to Oliver.

“I need to get rid of this gun. But there’s nothing I can do about Carmichael now. Cops are everywhere. Going to try to speak to Lance.” He paused, then asked, “I assume you heard everything?”

John was silent for a moment too. “Yeah, I heard it.” He sighed. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Oliver had moved into the shadows of the cavernous building, avoiding the flashlights of the police swarming the place. There was sudden burst of movement, then a convergence of lights. They’d found the body. He was able to discern the slouched form of Quentin Lance kneeling down to examine the corpse. “Get CSU down here!” He heard Lance bark out. More movement, and then it was just Lance and the body. Oliver moved silently towards Lance and he rose, then stiffened as he realized that he wasn’t alone.

“Figured you’d show up,” Lance spat. He turned to face Oliver and the older man’s face was filled with anguish. “Please tell me Laurel didn’t do this.”

Oliver didn’t reply immediately and Lance swore silently. “I’m sorry,” Oliver offered, feeling useless.

Quentin Lance glared at him with eyes full of hate. “Because of you, I have no family left. You Queens are a plague on this city.” Oliver was silent. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Oliver nodded simply and he too melted into the darkness.


	13. It's You I Can't Replace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one I debated over whether to include or not, given how events are shaking out in Season 4. I decided to leave it in for now, since I'm not going to try to shoehorn my story into the show's current storyline. Hope you enjoy it.

From atop Building Four, a hooded figure watched the chaos below. The flashing lights, the wailing sirens, figures scurrying among the structures. Continued to watch as one dark form detached itself from the shadows and slunk off. After a few more minutes, there was another. Above it all, a second person appeared beside the hooded one. For a long time, no one spoke.

“Beloved, if it is your wish, I will go after her.” Nyssa al Ghul spoke softly, gently. She placed one hand on the shoulder of her companion and was pained to notice the tiny flinch. Finally pushing back the hood, Sara Lance continued to gaze out into the night, in the direction her sister had gone. Eventually, she turned to look at Nyssa. Her eyes were filled with sadness. “Yes, perhaps that would be best.” Her voice was steady but tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Nyssa ached to see Sara hurting so. “I am so sorry - it is my fault. Had I not trained her, perhaps she would not have pursued this life…” 

Sara let out a short, harsh laugh. “You don’t know Laurel like I do. When she wants something, god help anyone in her way. I learned that lesson all too well…” She squeezed her eyes shut, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. Nyssa looked alarmed.

“Is it the headaches again? You need rest.” Two months ago, Sara had reappeared in Nanda Parbat, revived by the miracle of the Lazarus Pit, how or why, no one seemed to know. The strain of regenerating someone who had been dead for so long had drained the Pit of nearly all of its power. Malcolm (Nyssa refused to think of him as Ra’s) denied it, and for once, she believed him. He had no reason to bring back the one he’d had murdered by the hand of his own brain-washed daughter as part of his insane power grab. Since then, it had been an unsteady and alarming path to recovery. There had been setbacks and many desperate searches for solutions, some supernatural, some more mundane. But finally things seemed to be improving, when Nyssa had discovered the troubles plaguing Laurel. She’d been keeping tabs on her out of respect for Sara. They had decided together to return to Starling City to see what could be done.

Sara looked drained and leaned against the brick parapet, still wet with rain. “I think you may be right. But we need to help my sister. Get her out of this place.”

Nyssa nodded. “Whatever you wish, Sara. We will go together –”

“No.” Sara spoke with urgency. “You go without me. I – I’m not ready to see her. There’s too much we don’t know about my…my return. Who did this to me. Why? I just can’t involve her. She’s going through enough. The same goes for my father.” She seemed exhausted by her words. “Better to let them keep on thinking I’m dead. Let them move on. They should be good at that by now.”

“Of course, Beloved.” Nyssa briefly covered Sara’s fingers with her own and was relieved when Sara did not pull away. Sara looked up at Nyssa, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. “I – I’m not ready yet. But be patient with me.”

Nyssa nodded. “However long it takes. I will always be here for you.” She looked out at the harbor. “Perhaps a ship. I can smuggle her out, take her someplace where she can disappear. Her life here is over.”

Sara said nothing, just stared out into the night, watching the rain fall.


	14. Every Single Day

Night was approaching once more, but this time no rain fell. The sun had set and left ragged gold and vermilion and purple streaks in its wake. A planet shone above the horizon; Venus, or perhaps Mars. They gathered once more by the harbor, at a different pier. A huge cargo ship rose above them, an ominous silhouette waiting by the dock. Crewmembers were busy preparing for departure. 

Laurel gazed at the people before her; people she had called friends, people she had fought alongside. People who had lied to her, cheated on her, mistrusted her. She felt a pang because she thought she should be feeling more, yet there was an emptiness where there ought to be sadness. She was leaving this place, most likely never to see it, see them again, and Laurel only felt impatience to leave already.

“I know you’ll land on your feet,” Diggle said, and gave her a hug. She returned it, realizing that she would actually miss him. She gave him a brief smile.

Thea stepped forward next. “Be careful out there. I – I’m really going to miss kicking butts with you.” One side of her mouth quirked up in that lopsided grin she wore. But there were tears brimming in her eyes. Laurel embraced her, this vibrant young woman that she’d bonded with this past summer, almost a surrogate little sister. “Thank you,” Laurel whispered.

The sound of a car pulling up grabbed Laurel’s attention. She peered at it, afraid that she might be spotted. But then she recognized her father’s tall frame and was unsure if she should be afraid or relieved.

“I called him,” said Oliver, suddenly by her side. “I thought it would be good for you to say goodbye.”

Laurel crossed her arms across her chest. “Of course you did,” she said with a trace of bitterness.

Quentin Lance walked towards them, then stopped about ten feet away. He seemed uncertain. Finally, he began again and slowly approached Laurel. She saw that his eyes were red from crying and the calm she’d felt before slowly began to erode. She felt a knot in her throat tighten and tears forming in her own eyes. In all likelihood, Laurel would never see her father again. 

“Daddy, I –” She felt like she couldn’t breathe and then her father’s arms were around her. “Laurel baby,” she heard him whisper roughly. They stood like that for a long time.

Nyssa al Ghul seemed to materialize out of nothing. “I am sorry to interrupt, but time is short. We must move quickly.” She surveyed them all with her dispassionate gaze. When she turned towards Oliver, she smirked. “Husband.”

Oliver’s jaw twitched. “Wife,” he replied dryly. Felicity looked extremely uncomfortable and coughed quietly.

Quentin Lance looked utterly perplexed, then sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even want to ask.”

“You really don’t.” Oliver flicked his eyes briefly to the skies, as if to ask for some heavenly intervention. Then he walked over to Laurel and lifted her duffel bag. Before handing it to her, he spoke. “Laurel, we’ve been through so much and all the apologies in the world won’t begin to cover all the crap I put you through. But if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s this: you are tenacious. When you want something, you don’t let go and you never stop until it’s yours. Maybe…maybe you won’t be here in Starling saving the day, but I know that someday, somewhere, I’ll hear about some mysterious hero rescuing people…and I’ll know that you’ll be just fine.” 

For a moment, it seemed like he was going to hug her and she was about to move forward when Oliver nodded slightly and then stepped away from her. Back by Felicity’s side. Laurel found herself a bit disappointed, as though she had expected more. _That’s the trouble with Ollie, ___she told herself. _You always expect more from him, and you never get it. Did you really think he’d kiss you goodbye, with– ___

__Felicity stepped forward finally, and said, “Take care of yourself, Laurel. I - I just–” she broke off, sounding unsure._ _

__Laurel was tempted to be snarky, but she saw the sincerity in Felicity’s eyes and relented. “I know. You take care.” Felicity nodded, smiling a bit._ _

__Laurel regarded them all, with considerably less cynicism than she’d had only a little while ago. “Guess this is it,” she said with a broad smile that she only partly felt. She hoisted her duffel on her shoulder and followed Nyssa up the long gangplank into the ship. “See you around,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else._ _

__“So it’s just you and me now, I suppose,” Laurel said to Nyssa. “This could be fun.” She grinned at her companion._ _

__“Perhaps,” Nyssa replied soberly. “But in all honesty, I can only stay with you for a short time. I will help you get settled into your new home, but then I must leave you. I have…urgent business of a rather personal nature that I cannot ignore.” At Laurel’s stunned expression, Nyssa continued. “I regret that I did not correct your assumptions earlier but I did not wish to alarm you or your friends. Know that I will always help you, out of love and respect for your sister.”_ _

__Laurel was dumbfounded at this new information. “What could be so urgent that you have to dump me on my own halfway around the world?” That churning in her stomach was returning…_ _

__Nyssa cocked her head to one side and regarded Laurel with some amusement. “Come now, Laurel. I have seen how you’ve grown over these past several months and I know that you will be fine. You don’t give yourself enough credit. Just relax and I’ll get our things settled in our cabin.” She shouldered her own bag and took Laurel’s duffel and walked down a long corridor. Laurel watched her leave and then turned back to look at the horizon._ _

__Below her, she could still see her father, Oliver and his sister, Felicity and Diggle still standing on the dock, waiting. Crewmembers were hurrying about; the anchor was being raised on its enormous chain. The gangplank had been withdrawn._ _

__Gone were the golden and orange of sunset; the sky had deepened to dark blue and violet and more stars were visible, twinkling high above her. Laurel inhaled deeply, finally feeling like she could breathe. Birds flew past, headed for their nests and Laurel imagined herself soaring with them. This wasn’t an ending; no, this was a beginning and she didn’t intend to waste any more time._ _


End file.
